


An Island Wedding, or The One Where Aziraphale and Crowley Actually Received a Wedding Invite This Time

by shippityshipship



Series: Something Old, Something New [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema and Newton get married, Destination Wedding, F/M, Fear of Flying, Fluff, Flying, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Weddings, Witchcraft, gratuitous les mis references, island wedding, strong implications that Anathema uses owl post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-08 09:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21473713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippityshipship/pseuds/shippityshipship
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley attend the wedding of Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. It's as good an excuse for a holiday as any.Written for NaNoWriMo 2019. Part 2 of a series of weddings, but may be read as a stand-alone. Part 1 involved Madame Tracy and Shadwell's wedding.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: Something Old, Something New [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547332
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains gratuitous references to _Les Miserables_.

It was a clear night, no clouds, and the type of warm breeze that said summer was on it’s way but not quite arrived yet. There was a rare power outage, so the sky could be seen from London for once, the moon surrounded by stars in all their glory.

Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting on the comfy couch with the windows open to let in the fresh air, and candles illuminating the store. This time, Aziraphale had made sure the candles would miraculously never tip over or set anything alight.

“… an’ then there was a _woosh_, and Marc’sss robe had blown right off!” exclaimed Crowley, making good progress on their third bottle of red that evening.

“No!” gasped Aziraphale, not quite following the story at his level of intoxication, but knowing that anything involving a naked Marcus Antonius was sure to end in chaos.

“Yesssss! I know! And then Cleo sssaid…”

Suddenly Crowley was cut off by a single thud against the door. He looked at Aziraphale, worried.

“Trouble?” he whispered.

They listened for a few moments, but there were no more thuds, only the hoot of an owl.

“I doubt it, but I should really go check, shouldn’t I?” Aziraphale replied.

“I’m not letting you get abducted on your own, what if there are robbersss or ninjassss or ssssomething?” hissed Crowley.

“Shall we sober up?” asked Aziraphale.

There was a pause, while they both contemplated. Then, “Nahhhhhhhh,” they said in unison, before breaking into a fit of tipsy giggles.

They made their way towards the door, tiptoeing in the non-stealthy manner of two drunk ethereal beings trying and failing to be quiet. More than one stack of books came precariously close to crashing to the ground under the stumbles of the pair.

Aziraphale finally managed to unlock the door, and they both stuck their heads out, peering around the street. There was little to see in the moonlight – even the usual nightlife of Soho was absent, with nothing to power the clubs’ sound systems.

“Nothing to ssssee but the sssstars,” said Crowley, twirling around while looking up. He narrowly avoided crashing into a lamp post.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale stood in awe, looking up at the sky.

Crowley bowed. “You’re mossst welcome, Angel.”

“I wasn’t meaning you, although yes, that too.”  
“Nor wassss I… wait, what?”

Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s question, and instead responded with one of his own. “What do you mean, you’re welcome?”

“Didn’t you know? I’m an artissst!”

“Really? Well I never. That was quite well done of you.”

“Thanksssss.” It was convenient for Crowley that his blush was not visible in the moonlight.

They stood for a while in the street, looking up at the sky. Then Aziraphale started to sing under his breath.

“_Stars_  
_In your multitudes,_  
_Scarce to be counted,_  
_Filling the darkness_  
_With order and light,_  
_You are the sentinels_  
_Silent and sure_  
_Keeping watch in the night,_  
_Keeping watch in the night._”

_ __ _

“I think I might have accidentally inspired part of Javert’s ssstory arc, did I ever mention?”

_ __ _

“Really? I didn’t realise you’d met Victor Hugo! I never got the chance, had to track down a signed copy of the first print of volume 1 of Les Mis from another bookseller.”

_ __ _

“Oh, yeah, I probably should have thought to get you one. Nah, we crosssed pathssss a few times, Vic had a perch… per… he was very good at finding chaossss.”

_ __ _

“With the company he kept, I don’t doubt it.”

_ __ _

“Hey, no, that’s not fair, he was very kind to the ladiesss of the night.”

_ __ _

“I more meant the other revolutionaries. I know the dames were well treated by him, although that didn’t matter in the eyes of upstairs anyway. He was a champion at lust, he was going down. A shame, really.”

_ __ _

“Yeah, he’sss downsstairs alright, but don’t worry Angel, he’sss a bit of a legend down there. The worst they’ve done to him is given him untreatable sores down the you-know-where, and let’s face it, he’sss had that plenty in life anywayssss.”

_ __ _

“They treat famous people differently downstairs?”

_ __ _

“Obvioussssly. Why else do you think they let Freddy Mercury haunt the Bentley?”

_ __ _

“Huh.”

_ __ _

They stood side by side in companionable silence for a few more minutes, admiring the rare view of the London sky. Crowley was only slightly swaying, although whether deliberate or a result of being an inebriated snake-like creature was hard to tell. He seemed to be moving to the beat of whatever he was humming, which sounded like it might have been an off-key section of Les Mis.

_ __ _

“Which part of Javert’s story did you influence, anyway?”

_ __ _

“Really Angel? I thought it’d be obvious?”

_ __ _

“What, the thing about stars?”

_ __ _

Crowley quietly thought the part about obsessing over the incredibly kind and good guy for most of his life was more obvious, but he let it slide. “Kind of, but no, that was more when I hung out with Cameron Mackintosh when he was adapting the musical. No, it was the bit about the doubt leading to the fall.”

_ __ _

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, as he always got when Crowley mentioned the fall. He bumped his shoulder against Crowley’s, then said “You know, Javert was always my favourite character anyway.”

_ __ _

“Really? I would have thought you’d be more a Jean Valjean type. You know, the protagonist, steadfast and good, self-sacrificing and whatnot.”

_ __ _

“Yes, that’s all very well, but he can be a bit dull sometimes. Javert is intriguing.”

_ __ _

“Plus he gets the best song.”

_ __ _

“Oh please, the best song is clearly Eponine’s.”

_ __ _

“Says you and every other schoolgirl in her first audition.”

_ __ _

At that moment, there was a flicker, then another, and then the streetlights came back on. As all of London lit up, the stars were covered by the usual light pollution.

_ __ _

“Why did we come out here again?” asked Aziraphale, now well on his way to sober.

_ __ _

“There was a thud or something, not sure,” said Crowley.

_ __ _

“Oh well, this has been nice. I haven’t seen the stars from London since the blitz.”

_ __ _

Crowley hummed in agreement. “Shall we head back in and finish that bottle of red?”

_ __ _

They walked back towards the shop. As they reached the door, Crowley noticed a letter sitting on the edge of the step.

_ __ _

“Bit late for post,” he commented, picking it up.

_ __ _

An owl hooted in response from a nearby rooftop.

_ __ _

“To Sirs Crowley and Aziraphale. No postal address, but it found us anyway,” said Aziraphale.

_ __ _

“Shall we open it?”

_ __ _

“Curiosity killed the cat, but the answer brought it back.”

_ __ _

“Is that a yes or a no, Angel? I can never tell.”

_ __ _

Aziraphale took the letter inside, switched the now-working lights on, and found his letter opener on his desk. With a practiced swipe, he opened the sturdy envelope.

_ __ _

“It’s a wedding invitation!” he exclaimed. “Anathema and Newton, they’re to be married in June!”

_ __ _

“A summer wedding, how… quaint. Ooh, look, it’s on the solstice, sounds _spooky_.” Crowley’s eyes lit up.

_ __ _

“_The Old Druid Temple, Ronay Island, Scotland_… you might be right about ‘spooky’, although it’s a temple, will you be alright to stand there?”

_ __ _

“It’s ruins, should be fine. Besides, druid temples were always hit and miss – some of them were much less-than-holy by upstairs’ standards. I’m more curious about how on earth we’re going to get there, it’s in the outer part of the Hebrides!”

_ __ _

“I assume that’s what this is for,” said Aziraphale, pulling out a second piece of card from behind the invitation. On it was a detailed itinerary, including a booking reference number for first class tickets to the nearest airport, and a number to call when they arrived.

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! There are more chapters to come, I'll be posting a lot this month. Let me know what you think!


	2. Ronay Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding is a perfect excuse for an island holiday. Aziraphale and Crowley arrive at the island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: single line of misgendering by an oblivious boomer, done without malicious intent. Does not cause character distress, instead leads to a bonding moment.

Aziraphale stepped off the plane into a small airport, opening his umbrella against the drizzle. Trunk in hand, half-filled with books, he looked around, trying to find a payphone to call the number on the itinerary.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. He let go of his shiny new wheeled suitcase before pulling out his mobile phone and dialling.

Moments later, a smartly dressed gentleman appeared from seemingly nowhere, bowed, took their luggage, and walked down the airfield to a helicopter. Aziraphale gave Crowley a perplexed look. Crowley shrugged. They hurried after the man.

They stopped short in front of a sleek black helicopter. The man put their bags inside before stepping back and gesturing for them to enter the aircraft. 

The helicopter lifted them into the air, the over the water. It was a short flight, but incredibly scenic, even with the drizzle. Aziraphale was taking photos. He had somehow managed to bring along a camera for the occasion – film, of course – which Crowley privately thought might be the most modern thing in the angel’s luggage.

The helicopter flew over a series of islands, before descending in the middle of the outer ring. They landed without so much as a bump (both Crowley and Aziraphale would later take credit for that, although they needn’t have intervened, the pilot was skilled enough), and hopped off the helicopter onto the island.

“Well, well, looks like trouble finally arrived.” Anathema was grinning, approaching from where she had been standing at a safe distance. Newton came out from where he’d been hiding behind a rock, pulling his fingers out of his ears.

“I thought he was already here, and you were marrying the poor sod,” said Crowley, an identical grin on his face.

Aziraphale slapped his arm. “That’s no way to greet the happy couple on their blessed day,” he admonished. Then he turned to the couple in question. “Congratulations, my dears, and what a wonderful location you’ve chosen! Shame about the weather, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” said Newton. “The actual wedding isn’t until tomorrow though, so we should be fine. I hope. The weather’s forecast to get better, at any rate, at least according to the paper.”

“Still can’t get a search engine to hold still long enough to Google it?” asked Crowley.

“No such luck, although maybe marrying the great-great however-many-times-great granddaughter of the witch that created the curse will finally break it. Once I’m a descendant-in-law or something, that is,” he replied.

Anathema looked sceptical. Aziraphale looked pitying. Crowley looked like he actually felt some sympathy for the guy.

“It’s no difference here, anyway,” said Anathema. “There’s no mobile signal or internet on the island. It’s perfect.”

Crowley looked like someone had scratched his Bentley.

“There is a fully stocked wine cellar,” Newt added. That cheered up Crowley.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “It’s beautiful here, are the other guests here yet?”

“Most of my family and friends are flying in tomorrow,” said Anathema. “They didn’t want to stay on the island, so they’ll be taking a helicopter direct from the Hilton in Belfast. The kids should be coming over any minute now – they’re taking a boat. Their parents think this is a scout camp, so if you could keep up the pretence and they’ll just ‘stumble upon’ the wedding tomorrow, that’d be great.”

“Sneaky, I like it,” Crowley nodded in approval.

“I'm sure they'll have a very educational and pleasant camp. Will there be anyone else here?” Aziraphale asked.

“There’ll be the caterers and the officiant arriving tomorrow to set up for the afternoon. They should come in with the high tide. Oh, and Newt’s mum and college friends are already here, as are Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell. They’re in the cottage.”

It wasn’t hard to find the cottage, being the only building still standing on the island. It was large and painted white, overlooking the sea. They trundled down, the helicopter pilot silently carrying Aziraphale and Crowley’s luggage before wordlessly disappearing again.

“Crowley! Aziraphale!” Madame Tracy cried, greeting each of them with a hug.

“Well if it isn’t the Flashy Bastard and the Southern Pansy,” grumbled Sergeant Shadwell. “Here to curse another already damned occasion, are ye?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just grumpy I wouldn’t let him bring matches to a witch’s wedding,” said Madame Tracy.

“It’s probably the nicotine withdrawal,” whispered Newt to Anathema. If it were about anyone else she would have agreed with her fiancé, but she had a feeling this was Sergeant Shadwell in a good mood.

“Madame Tracy, you look positively exuberant! Married life treating you well?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh yes dear, it’s been divine, we like Hastings so much we’ve handed in our notice to the landlords! We don’t think Sergeant Shadwell will be getting his bond back given the state of the apartment, but given it was only twenty pounds I think we’ll manage.”

“Found a place then?” asked Aziraphale, pretending he had no idea the luck they had had.

“Oh yes, there’s this divine cottage overlooking the ocean, not far from the town. It came on the market only the day before we decided to start looking, and it’s such a lovely little place, you know, it’d been lived in by the same old dear for seventy years before she passed away, and they wanted to sell it quickly to settle her will, see, so it was at an astonishingly low price, the estate agent said she hadn’t seen a place so cheap since the nineties…”

“How are the ‘tax benefits’?” asked Crowley to Sergeant Shadwell, as Madame Tracy kept rambling to an attentive Aziraphale.

“Aye, they’re… alright, ah suppose,” said Sergeant Shadwell, colouring.

Crowley grinned and patted Sergeant Shadwell on the back as they headed inside.

* * *

Inside there were three people already in the kitchen. A middle-aged lady with the same eyes as Newton was pouring herself a cup of tea. At the table sat two people playing what looked to be a game of cards, but with something that clearly wasn’t a regular playing deck.

“Mum, Toby, Matt, these are my friends Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale, Crowley, this is my mum Sandra, and my uni mates and groomsfolks, Toby and Matt.”

Toby and Matt stood up to shake the new-comer’s hands. Sandra put down her cup of tea and came over to kiss both Aziraphale and Crowley on the cheek.

“So very lovely to meet you!” Sandra exclaimed. “How is it you two know my boy?”

“Er…” Crowley and Aziraphale glanced at each other.

“I told you mum, I met them on the job. We were all subcontracted on the same project where I met Anathema.”

“Yes, that sums it up just about,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh, that's right, work colleagues!” said Sandra, clapping her hands together. “It’s a pity you don’t do that job any more, you met some lovely people. Still, it’s not like you need the money these days. Did you know Anathema’s family is organising all of this? Isn’t it lovely for them to put us up for the wedding?” she addressed the last part to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“It’s not trouble, really, Mrs Pulsifer,” said Anathema.

“I’ve told you once, I’ll say it again: call me Sandra.”

“I’ll make you a deal: once you let me marry your son, I’ll call you Sandra,” smiled Anathema.

“Fine, fine, only a few hours left before we get there. Really though, this place is lovely, although I’m glad we don’t have to fit all of your lot here. Aziraphale, Crowley, come, I’ll show you to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, she set off up the stairs, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to follow. “Come along, we don’t have all day, things to do, puffins to see,” she called.

“Puffins?” Crowley mouthed at Aziraphale, who shrugged in response. They carried their luggage up the narrow staircase to the top story.

“Now this is the master bedroom, Newt and Anathema will be in here, we’ve been reassured it’s soundproof. This next one is Toby and Matt’s – they were roommates in uni, and they’re still sharing now, so they’ll be fine together. I’m downstairs in the small room behind the kitchen, as I snore something chronic so best you don’t hear that. This one here is Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell’s, I hope they can manage the stairs alright…”

Aziraphale waved his hand, and suddenly the staircase was a bit more even and had a handrail that looked as though it had always been there.

“… and this here is yours! I figured Toby and Matt are sharing you two would be alright with it too – it’s a bit of a small house for nine people, so folks are going to have to bunk up. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to settle in, come down for a cuppa when you’re done!”

With that, Sandra had disappeared back downstairs, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone.

“Well this is… nice,” said Crowley, trying to look anywhere other than the one bed or Aziraphale. That only left the view, which was actually very nice.

“Quite,” said Aziraphale.

“One bed,” said Crowley, stating the obvious.

“It’s okay, I don’t sleep anyway,” said Aziraphale.

“Right.”

They put down their bags and unpacked in silence, each casting their own miracles to remove the wrinkles travel had given their clothes.

“Do you know, I quite like the seaside,” said Aziraphale out of the blue.

“Really? I’ve always thought of you as a city-slicker.”

“Yes, the city is nice, but there’s just something about getting away from it all, the salt air, you know?”

“Less evil in the seaside, when you get away from all the banks and city stuff, I guess.”

“It’s not only that… it’s the ability to curl up with a good book, then get some chips and walk in the sand. Maybe even go for a swim.”

“No chip shops on this island, Angel,” Crowley pointed out. “Also, since when did you swim?”

“I was always fond of the bath houses back in the day. I haven’t indulged in floating in the water for too long, unless you count that bath of holy water, which wasn’t particularly relaxing.”

“Haven’t… did you pack your swim trunks, by any chance?” asked Crowley. Outside the drizzle slowed to a stop.

“I don’t think so, they’re… oh! They are here.” Aziraphale held up an old-fashioned full body swimsuit, striped red and white. “Would you look at that.”

“How convenient,” said Crowley with a grin, pulling a pair of black bikini bottoms with elegant bows on the side out of his suitcase.

“Well, who am I to say no to such leisure. We are, after all, on a deserted island!”

“An island off the coast of Scotland, Angel. It might be summer, but don’t expect the water to be warm.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” As Aziraphale spoke, the clouds that had previously brought drizzle decided that they have better places to be, and the sun finally made an appearance. “Shall we?”

* * *

A delicious smell wafted down from the cottage, reaching them in the water.

“Well, that’s my signal to get out, something smells scrummy,” said Aziraphale.

They dried off, then Crowley said “Race you!” They ran inside, giggling and shoving each other through the door.

Newton was in command of the kitchen, stirring the pot while instructing Matt on how to chop the basil, Toby on how to grate the parmesan, and Sergeant Shadwell to stay well away from the knives, the ambulance wouldn’t be able to reach them out here. Sandra was showing baby photos to Anathema and a giggling Madame Tracy.

“Just in time, folks,” said Newt. “Tea will be ready in ten, so you’ve got just enough time to shower and get changed, then you can set the table.”

“Yessir,” saluted Crowley, before running upstairs, hair still dripping. Aziraphale followed close behind.

“How long have they been together?” asked Sandra, once the pair had disappeared upstairs, dripping water behind them.

“Oh, since forever, I think,” said her son.

“How lovely. You didn’t tell me they were a couple, Newt,” said Sandra.

“Oh, I must have,” said Newton.

Toby and Matt exchanged a look. “You didn’t realise we were a couple until you were literally at our wedding, Sandra,” said Toby fondly.

“Oh hush you, I’ve said sorry. My gaydar is much more finely attuned nowadays,” she proclaimed.

Matt snorted. Toby softly whacked him across the back of the head. “Bi-dar, if you want to be pedantic,” Matt pointed out.

“Oh, it’s not that finely attuned dear,” said Sandra.

“What’s this about the Southern Pansy being a pansy?” asked Sergeant Shadwell, a bit slow on the uptake, but with the excuse of already being on his third whiskey.

Madame Tracy straightened his glass from where it was tilting dangerously in his hand. “We’re talking about Aziraphale and Crowley being a couple, dear. They seem to have been together forever, it’s very sweet.”

“A couple? Those two? Next thing you’ll be telling me Elvis isn’t dead.”

“Pretty sure he’s not, downstairs were getting very impatient last I heard,” said Crowley coming from the staircase, towelling his hair dry. “What’s this about a couple?”

“Oh, nothing, Toby and Matt were just reminiscing about their wedding,” breezed Anathema. Crowley might have invented gossiping when he first approached the Angel of the Eastern Gate, but there was no need for him to know that he was today’s topic.

“You two are married? Congratulations! How long for?” asked Aziraphale, following downstairs.

Anathema and Newton exchanged a glance. That had been a quick timeframe between showers.

“Coming up to two years now,” said Toby. “He proposed just after that weird weekend that nobody can quite remember, you know, the one that the news footage has all disappeared from. Matt’s always been a bit of a conspiracy theorist, and figured it must have been too much of a near-death experience to not take the opportunity. We tied the know a couple of months later.”

“I’m sure that weekend was perfectly ordinary, but a lovely excuse all the same,” said Aziraphale, setting out the plates.

Crowley brought across the cutlery and cloth napkins. Sandra put away the book of baby pictures, then her, Madame Tracy, and Anathema went to get the drinks. Newton brought across a large pot of spaghetti, with Toby carrying the parmesan and Matt carrying the garlic bread.

“Looks scrumptious, thank you for cooking,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley raised his glass. “To the bride, to the groom, and to the institution of marriage. May your days together be as good as this spaghetti.”

Newton looked nervously at the pot. He soon relaxed once he started eating – if Crowley’s toast was a true blessing, they were going to be very happy indeed.

* * *

After dinner, Toby and Matt taught everyone the card game they’d brought along. It took a couple of rounds to get the rules, but eventually everyone was playing Coup with ease. Even Sergeant Shadwell seemed to enjoy it, although Madame Tracy took away his glass when he got a bit too riled up for having been ‘assassinated’. Crowley did have to shush Aziraphale when he started to reminisce about historical leaders who had met a similar ends.

Although the sun was not yet set, at eight in the evening Anathema stood up and called it a night. The first part of the wedding at the old Druid temple would be before dawn tomorrow, and they were all welcome to join if they wanted to, but it wasn’t compulsory. The actual ceremony would be at sundown the next evening, so there would be plenty of time to have a nap between the events.

“It is compulsory for one person here, Mr Pulsifer, so I suggest you turn in soon,” said Anathema, before bidding everyone goodnight.

“Gotta go, the nearly-missus is calling me to bed,” said Newt with a grin.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” called Toby after him, although Newton was already out of earshot.

“Have you seen the luck he’s found? I don’t think any degree of pre-wedding _stuff_ could tarnish that,” said Matt.

“Might I remind you, his mother is still in the room,” said Sandra.

“That’s why I only said ‘_stuff_’, Sandra!” laughed Matt, packing up the cards.

“Oh, enough of you, I’m going to bed,” she replied fondly. “Night, boys.”

“Not a boy,” Toby and Crowley each muttered at the same time. They looked up, startled, before breaking into matching grins and giving each other a hi-five.

“Pronouns?” asked Toby.

“Depends on my mood, but he/him is usually fine,” replied Crowley.

“He tends to make it pretty obvious when he’d rather something else,” smiled Aziraphale. Crowley nodded in agreeance.

“What about you?” asked Crowley in return.

“They/them is my favourite, but I’m not too bothered if strangers mistake me for he/him. So long as it’s nothing feminine, I had enough of that as a kid.”

“Righto,” said Crowley.

“What about yourself?” Matt asked Aziraphale.

“Oh, I’ve used whatever masculine pronouns are available in every language except Ancient Babylonian, so he/him is just fine,” he said.

“Well, I’ll make sure to take care next time I break out the Ancient Babylonian,” laughed Toby.

“Oh, do you speak it? I haven’t had a chance to in ages, my pronunciation is a bit rusty,” replied Aziraphale excitedly.

“Pretty sure it was sarcasm, Angel,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale blushed, then chuckled. “Ah well, I get a bit enthusiastic about old languages.”

Toby and Matt laughed, then with a yawn, Toby said “Well, it’s been a long day of travelling. Night, folks,”

“Good night,” said Aziraphale.

“Ina barāri,” said Crowley.

Matt and Toby disappeared upstairs with a wave.

“I didn’t know you spoke Ancient Babylonian,” said Aziraphale.

“Barely,” said Crowley. “I only picked up a couple of words when I passed though.”

“Oh well, your pronunciation is excellent.”

“Thanksss.” The tips of Crowley’s ears reddened at the compliment.

Aziraphale looked outside. “Tell you what, dear, I’m not quite ready to retire for the night yet. Shall we go and feed the puffins?”

“Sure, why not, the suns still out,” said Crowley. “Mind you, I’m not sure puffins eat bread.”

“I think I read somewhere they prefer fish,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley rummaged around in the pantry, before triumphantly procuring a tin of sardines. “Ta da!” he said with a grin. They set off out into the dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronay Island is a real place. No, I've never been there. Yes, I've spent many hours googling it. It looks lovely if you have the money to hire out a private island for a week at a time.
> 
> Apologies to anyone who speaks Ancient Babylonian.
> 
> As always, comments are hugely appreciated and keep me motivated through the end of this NaNoWriMo!


End file.
